


McHanzo Prompt Requests

by devastatedcoconut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devastatedcoconut/pseuds/devastatedcoconut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of requests that were sent and filled via tumblr - mostly short and sweet, some a little sadder... all McHanzo goodness~!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of requests that were sent and filled via tumblr - mostly short and sweet, some a little sadder... all McHanzo goodness~!
> 
> anon asked: Mchanzo bonding over smokes and booze

“When I was a kid, I wanted t’be a dinosaur.”

“…you didn’t.”

“Sure ‘s hell did. I had a costume, them little fake teeth kids get for Hallowe’en… spent a year workin’ on my roar.”

Hanzo covers his mouth when a smile threatens. “I’ve never heard of—a cowboy, I could believe…”

“Naw. That kicked in a little later.”

“It is hard to imagine you so naïve.”

McCree snorts. “Everybody’s a kid once. You tellin’ me you never had any crazy ideas about what you wanted t’be?”

“No. Never.”

“C’mon… not even once?”

 _“No,”_ Hanzo repeats, gripping his bottle tighter. His eyes—glassy—mirror the fire. “There was never any room for—for childish dreams. I always knew I would inherit the Shimada clan, even when I was a boy.”

“Hell.” The other man uncrosses his legs to scuff a heel into the dirt, shaking his head. “That ain’t—”

“What?”

“It ain’t right.” McCree frowns. “You take away that feelin’ from a kid, the one that says they can be anything… what kinda future’ve they got t’hope for?”

“I had a future,” Hanzo scowls.

“They made you kill your brother, Hanz.”

_“Don’t you–”_

A warning hiss, but McCree is already raising his palms, bowing his head in apology. He’s seen Hanzo angry–really angry, enough to make him tremble–and doesn’t want that for him now, not here. “Alright, alright… you’re right. Wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”

For a moment longer the man burns, teeth half-bared in a snarl… and then, snake-like, uncoils and relaxes, visibly shaking off the tension.

Shadowy silence falls over them, cold. McCree sighs.

“Listen, didn’t mean t'bring back bad memories… just thought it’d be a funny thing t'share.”

Hanzo doesn’t reply, setting his bottle down to curl his knees against his chest. McCree knew about his family legacy, of course… they’d spent many a long desert night like this one just talking, reminiscing. Drinking, usually, which led to more than just talking… but that was never a bad thing, and in spite of everything always left him feeling–lighter.  


There were still things neither of them had asked, things that weren’t ready to be shared. One of McCree’s best traits was his instinctive understanding of privacy–the need to be silent, sometimes, the luxury of having secrets, or protecting yourself. On harder days, when bones were broken and blood spilled, it brought them closer.

“I’m sorry.” McCree’s voice, soft.

“Don’t be. You’re right, of course.” Hanzo mutters. “It was–that was my future.”

The fire pops and he feels rough cloth over his shoulder, McCree’s warm weight against his back. “That ain’t it. Hey–what you got now, with us? That’s–y'know, I’d know better than anyone, reckon. ’S what you got now ’s important.”

There’s a kiss, just barely, against his neck.

“Your poncho reeks of cigars. And your breath.”

He doesn’t see the man smile, but feels it as he settles into him, content.


	2. Prompt #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Hanzo likes to sit on McCree’s lap (despite the atrocious best seat in the house pun) and can in fact fall asleep there

There are few places where he feels truly comfortable.

When he was a boy, he would climb the rafters of his family’s manor and perch, narrowed eyes preying on muttered conversations, beatings, worship. When he was a boy, it was easy for him to disappear, a shadow’s shadow that only spoke when told.

Threats came from his father’s open palm, manifested with a sting and a spray of blood. His mother’s lips, pretty like a doll’s, were barbed with disappointment. He grew older, his shoulders heavier with the weight of his title–his birthright, though he hadn’t asked for it. He was scolded and chastised and in time, forged himself against them. A quick slap wasn’t enough to knock him down any more, he wouldn’t lie awake wrestling with someone’s disapproval. He learned to fight. He was steel. Cold and sharp, he grew to dance with danger.

Years later, he stands over the body of a man who was sent to kill him.

He’d heard him coming.

Lukewarm blood swells around his feet, the stars whisper among themselves. He is shaking, can smell his own sweat–tangy, unpleasant. He is now a target, no longer safe to wander as he pleases in search of–redemption? Forgiveness? Reality slides a knife to his throat and sneers at him. _You are pathetic, Hanzo. You are watched, you are hunted. We will kill you._

He lives for darkness, thrives on concealing every part of himself and honing everything down to a fine, instinctive point. Rooftops and corners do not flatter him, but they keep him alive. They are the only things he trusts.

And then… McCree.

McCree greets him with a handshake that nearly crushes his fingers, slaps him on the back for good measure. He is loud, brazen. He talks quickly and laughs easily and really, shouldn’t at all be as alive as he is. If he isn’t smoking he’s drinking. When drinking won’t do he lounges like a cat in the sun, and snores. When they aren’t on the field or on an assignment, no one is as openly content.

The man is everything he has been raised to despise, and utterly overwhelms him.

While he slips fluidly through shadows, McCree embraces aching light, throws him long smiles and talks as though they’re old friends. The others–and it isn’t their fault, that he cannot bear to be around them for long–offer companionship and conversation. They defer to him when a keen eye and little mercy is needed, and in spite of everything he almost feels something akin to peace. But McCree… the man is a whirlwind of heat, disarms his very being.

On long nights–the ones where sleep refuses to oblige–he finds himself wandering with a familiar presence, fingers skating needily over stone walls. He finds McCree’s room and doesn’t say a word. The man understands.

Smiles become touches, touches give way to soft words that prickle his skin. He curls up with the man’s arms around him, tucking his knees up to make himself as small as possible–McCree says something that doesn’t translate so well. ‘Best seat in the house’? It doesn’t matter. For the first time in a long time, years, he settles against the warm skin of someone who knows how it feels… knows that in moments like these, it is everything just to feel safe.

With McCree… he is truly comfortable.


	3. Prompt #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Mchanzo: hanzo wears his boyfriend’s clothes. Mccree (who is taller than hanzo) approves hard

McCree has woken up to many things, not all of them pleasant. 

This time, it’s Hanzo.

The man is framed by the window, smoking a cigarette–the spicy kind whose brand he doesn’t recognise–and wearing one of his shirts. From this angle he can see the soft curve of his buttocks rising just beneath the hem, the lavender love-bite nestled there. His hair falls tousled around his shoulders, begging for playful fingers.

McCree sits up with a very intentional yawn.

“You’re finally awake, lazy?”

“I ain’t lazy,” he grins, scratching his chest. “Just admirin’ the view.”

“I suspected you would.” Hanzo turns, exposing himself with a rare smirk. “You like it?”

“Look goddamn gorgeous.” The other man spends another moment openly staring, throwing back the covers and padding over. A warm palm slides up Hanzo’s thigh, his hip, squeezes there. “Like… damn. How’s that work?”

“You are a pervert, that’s why,” he laughs.

“You could’ve just stood there naked, y’know…”

“No. I am comfortable.”

McCree bites his lip in a half-smile. It isn’t at all cold, and nobody can see them from this room… they’d chosen it specifically for the luxury of being able to smoke, and because no other buildings shadowed them. Privacy and relaxation were difficult to come by, but when they did manage to find something, it was always thoroughly vetted for the essentials, first.

They share a smoky kiss, and a thought occurs.

“Hey…”

“Mm?”

“Would ya wear my hat, too?”

Hanzo’s brows pinch. “What?”

“Y’know, since you got the shirt on already–”

“No.”

“But sugar…”

 _“No._ Your shirt is foul enough.”

He isn’t so easily deterred. With a demure growl McCree finds his pulse, ghosting his lips over and down, down Hanzo’s neck to nibble his shoulder. A flustered plume of smoke hits his ear.

“You have such strange desires…”

“Ain’t all that strange. You look cute.”

A sharp tut and Hanzo stubs out his cigarette, pulling away. “Are you going to take pictures?”

“No,” McCree lies.

Somehow, he is still indulged. Without bothering to dress any further, Hanzo finds the hat–and why, why is there a ketchup stain on the inside?!–and puts it on, crossing his arms with a sour look.

“I mean it…” the other man laughs. “It kinda suits ya.”

“Mph.”

“You wanna tie my hair up with that ribbon ‘f yours?”

“I can think of other things,” Hanzo says, squeezing McCree’s cheeks together. “Most of them involve you shutting up.”

“Oh, sure. I can do that.”

They tumble into bed together, their clothes forgotten.


	4. Prompt #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Jesse can sing. Mostly strumming a guitar around a campfire though. Hanzo is mightily impressed

“If not for you… babe, I couldn’t find the door…”

McCree’s voice, soft.

“…couldn’t even see the floor…”

Hanzo peeks over the covers and spots him pouring a cup of coffee. Morning light kisses his skin, warm and dusky, fills the laugh lines around his eyes. He looks beautiful.

“I’d be sad and blue… if not for you.”

It’s not the first time he’s heard him. The first time–a while ago now, but still so vivid–was in the shower, while rinsing off the day’s exhaustion together and stealing kisses in between. They’d fooled around a little, traded pinches and wet smacks, until he’d started massaging the man’s back in the hopes for some dirty talk. Instead, he’d got ‘Crazy He Calls Me’ at the top of Jesse’s lungs.

The more time they spent together, the more he began to understand that McCree sang everywhere, so long as he was comfortable. Usually, it didn’t even matter if there was an audience; once he was at ease the man was like a walking jukebox.

Which, all things considered, wasn’t really fair… he was far better. His voice had an earnest, smoky quality that lent itself well to jaunty ballads and mournful folk songs. Often, he’d lay awake crossing swords with his inner demons–cold, terrified–only to be lulled to sleep by McCree’s husky tones caressing his ear.

“If not for you… winter would have no spring…”

Closing his eyes, Hanzo slips out of view and listens… the imagery is clear, the meaning behind it more so. The man is singing about him, and although it is nothing new, he feels his heart fluttering all the same.

Once, before they’d started dating, he’d asked whether or not McCree could play anything. He’d grinned.

“Sure can. Harmonica, banjo, guitar…”

“As many as that?”

“Well, I always liked how they sounded. Kinda grew up around that sorta music, reckon ‘s no surprise that I wanted t’learn.”

They’d sat together in one of the gardens at Hanamura, gingerly at first but soon leaning closely into each other’s space and laughing, smoking, sharing a single bottle of liquor while McCree played. Even then… even before he’d understood his own infatuation, before they’d chanced lingering touches or stares, he’d known that McCree was far more than he lead others to believe.

“Couldn’t hear the robin sing… I just wouldn’t have a clue… if not for you.”

He sighs, a wanting sigh, and beckons the man with a hand.

“Well, good mornin’, sugar,” McCree beams, sipping from his mug. “You need somethin’?”

“Get back to bed.”

He does, setting his coffee on the nightstand and cuddling close.

“I wake you up?” A murmur, apologetic.

“Yes. But you needn’t be sorry.”

“No?”

“Mm. I heard you singing. It was… nice.”

Jesse chuckles, burying his nose into the man’s neck. “That was an old one… the one ‘n only mister Bob Dylan.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“That’s alright. I’ll get Hana t’download some onto your phone.”

“I much prefer it live,” Hanzo says, kissing him hard.


	5. Prompt #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: If you’re okay with another mchanzo prompt how about mccree taking hanzo horse riding but sth happens and now they both have to share a horse to return? Cue flustered hanzo and mccree about to burst from happiness bc horse riding, showing off his skills and getting to cuddle his bf at the same time? Priceless

“Now, all you’ve gotta do is keep your balance…”

“What kind of advice is that? What if it moves?”

“She ain’t gonna move ‘s long as you don’t squirm about too much.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve been riding since you were a boy,” Hanzo muttered, eyeing the mare suspiciously. He still wasn’t sure how Jesse had coaxed him into this… just that in the moment, he’d been quite helpless against the man’s enthusiasm.

“You can do it. Step up, take the reins… Daisy won’t budge, she’s a good girl.”

Hanzo gave him a look that said he wasn’t at all convinced before hoisting himself up onto the stirrup and falling off again, landing in the dirt.

“This is impossible,” he grumbled, dusting himself off while McCree laughed. “You—shut up. You told me this would be enjoyable.”

“It will be, soon as you get your ass on the damn horse.” McCree wiped his eyes and moved behind the other man, holding his hips. “Just… sorta angle yourself t’wards the saddle. Once you get up, all you’ve gotta do is swing your leg around.”

“That is exactly what I _have_ been doing.”

“Naw, you—”, he started to laugh again, “—you get about so high and kinda… well, fall off. Look, lemme help ya…”

Taking Hanzo’s hand, he prompted him to lift himself up again and kept a firm grip, guiding him carefully upwards.

“There ya go… see? Ain’t all that diffic—whoa, now swing your leg around!”

With a wobble and a few curses Hanzo regained his balance, lifting his leg over to finally flop into the saddle with a huff.

“…I am never doing this again.”

“We ain’t even left the paddock yet,” Jesse snorted, giving Daisy’s rump an affectionate smack. “Besides, I’ve gotta show ya somethin’.”

“Is it worth falling on my ass for?”

“Sure is. Hell, I can’t believe a Shimada boy wasn’t ever taught how t’ride.” McCree clicked his tongue to call his own stallion over, jumping up and onto its bare back with ease. At Hanzo’s disgruntled expression, he smirked. “Woulda thought high society expected that kinda thing.”

“I ride exceptionally well,” the man sniffed. “Just not horses.”

He was rewarded with a splutter and red cheeks. “A-alright, alright… s’pose we better get movin’.”

After a few pointers on the basic commands it was easy enough; Daisy was patient and didn’t seem to mind being stopped, started or quietly cursed at… for which Hanzo was grateful. Once McCree was confident that he could handle himself they left the paddock and began riding, a gentle canter, towards the rocky outcrop that stretched just on the horizon. It was early afternoon, warm but not uncomfortably so. Jesse was quick to point out that these were ideal riding conditions, and that back home he would have spent a good few hours just galloping around to enjoy the wind in his hair. This time, he was happy to go slow.

“Aren’t you at all uncomfortable, without a saddle?” Hanzo asked as they crested a lazy dune.

“Naw, I learned how t’ride like this years ago. Probably couldn’t go back t’using a saddle now, even if I wanted.”

Hanzo held tightly to his reins, pursing his lips. “Did you come out here often? While I was—before I joined?”

“Often as I could, without foregoin’ our mission.” McCree met his eyes with a smile. “Just about the most peaceful thing in the world, getting out into the open with nothing but you ‘n a horse.”

“I can think of easier ways to get there…”

The man laughed, riding a little closer to shove Hanzo’s shoulder. “I’ll convince ya, by the end ‘f this trip. And, hey—you ever want a lesson, and I mean a real one… we can always do that, too.”

Hanzo gave him a flat look. “You would laugh at me.”

“Swear I wouldn’t, sugar.”

“I’d hurt you. Badly.”

“Exactly. Wouldn’t even think ‘f it.”

~*~

They reached the foot of the mountains an hour later, and McCree hopped off.

“See… what’d I tell ya? Made it.”

“Just barely,” Hanzo groaned, shimmying his way down. “I can’t feel my—”

“C’mere… I’ll help ya stretch yourself out.”

He didn’t argue.

“It’s worth it now, eh?” McCree smiled, rubbing the man down. “This view, these mountains… ain’t anything ‘s nice closer t’the city.”

Hanzo glanced around, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. If he was being fair—and he was very reluctant to—it was… interesting. The earth was red, freckled with long grass and hard edges, closer to an African Savannah than a desert. Blue sky yawned over them. Here, there were even trees—frail things, but plentiful enough to dapple the light into sharp shapes. If he climbed a little higher, he wagered he would see all the way to base and possibly beyond; certainly the mountains further along and the dusty open road they’d followed to get here.

It was so unlike Hanamura, where the sun was softer and the landscape–in his eyes–richer… but the difference wasn’t so bad.

He swept his hair back and sighed through his nose, admitting defeat. “Alright. It isn’t… terrible.”

“I knew I’d convince ya,” McCree chuckled, removing his serape to lay it beneath one of the trees. “Care t’join me?”

“…you came out all this way to have a nap?”

“Well, if you don’t wanna…”

“I thought you said you had something to show me?”

“Oh, yeah.” The man gestured around with a pleased grin. “Here it is.”

“…this is it.”

“Aw, don’t say it like that. Quiet out here, ain’t it? Relaxin’?”

“I am going to murder you,” Hanzo muttered, flopping down onto the makeshift blanket.

He was joined soon after—and really, he could have quite gladly punched the amused look right off the other man’s face if he wasn’t worried about finding his way back—who wrapped him up in his arms and laughed.

“You need to tether the horses.”

“Naw, they’ll be fine. Daisy’s a clever girl but she’s timid—she won’t go far.”

“And yours?”

“Well, Dusty’s just plain dumb. He’ll probably fall right asleep.”

Hanzo snorted, rolling onto his side. “…are there snakes, out here?”

“Sure are.”

“If one bites me, I will make sure it bites you, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” McCree yawned.

~*~

A few hours later, night was drawing close.

Dusty had disappeared.

“I told you we should have tethered them!” Hanzo glared, shoving McCree’s chest. “Look how late it is—we’ll never find the stupid creature now!”

“It—it’s alright,” McCree swallowed. Drawing a breath, he gave a loud whistle. “Dusty! Hey, Dusty! Where the hell’re you at, boy?”

“He’s wandered off into the desert and now we have one horse”, Hanzo snapped. “How are we going to get back?”

For a moment longer McCree tried calling for his horse—to no avail. At Hanzo’s thinly-veiled panic, he turned, brow arched.

“What d’ya mean, how’re we gonna get back? We’ll ride.”

“The saddle fits one. I cannot properly ride. Where do you suggest I sit?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Jesse snorted a laugh, giving Daisy a pat. “C’mon, I’ll show ya—we’ll both fit. You just sit in front, I’ll take the reins from behind… we’ll be back at base before you know it.”

“I never should have let you convince me…”

“Quit bein’ so dramatic—here, just watch.”

McCree took Hanzo’s hand again, just as he had earlier, and guided him up onto the saddle without trouble. Giving Daisy another friendly pat, he swung himself up just behind the other man: not quite on the saddle, but close enough that he could sit comfortably and reach the reins at the same time.

“Well… now I’m thinking we shoulda done this from the start,” he grinned, kissing Hanzo’s ear.

“Stop it,” the other man grumbled, batting him away and holding tightly to Daisy’s neck. “This is the worst thing that could have happened to us, and it was all your fault.”

“It ain’t the absolute worst thing.”

“You’re right. I could still kill you.”

McCree rolled his eyes with a smile and nudged both heels, encouraging Daisy to start moving. If they went at a steady pace, they could probably make it back in the hour… if they didn’t get lost.

“What happens when it gets dark?”

“Well… I ain’t exactly made a plan for that, yet, but there’s scrub along the way, probably rocks that we could shelter under—”

Hanzo went stiff, leaning back into McCree with a mutter. “You are never taking us anywhere again.”

“We ain’t lost yet, sugar.” Jesse circled his arms around the other man as best he could, resting his chin on his shoulder apologetically. “And once we’re back, swear I’ll make it up to ya.”

“If you think you can,” Hanzo snorted.

“I will, don’t you worry. I will.”


	6. Prompt #6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Hanzo being really upset about something and Mcree comforting him?

Hanzo closes his eyes and stares into an abyss.

Genji reaches for him, sharp claws and eyes that draw him in, reveal a bloodstained corridor, familiar. The floorboards moan beneath his feet as he starts running, ragged breaths in, out, in, out… on the wall, a portrait of his mother and father–except not them, a parody, sneering down at him with eyes like knives.

Outside, there are blossoms falling… each one caresses his skin wetly, and he reaches up to catch one. More blood–it is raining and everything is crimson, a burning landscape of death. He tastes iron, feels himself biting into his tongue and screams–

“Why? Why are you doing this to me?!”

_You are the one who did this, he hears. You are the one to blame._

He is falling from a rooftop. The sky glares at him, unforgiving, and a shadow appears–he knows. A flash of white, the curve of a blade at his throat and blood… so much blood on his hands, in his mouth; he can’t bear it. Honour and pride, duty, they cut into him and rip him apart and leave nothing… nothing but a splintered husk at the foot of a mountain.  


Hanzo wakes, already sobbing.

~*~

McCree is the one to make him tea. It is hot and sweet–exactly what he needs.

“You wanna talk about it?” the man asks, soft.

He shakes his head. “It was nothing new. Perhaps… more vivid, than usual. But the same as always.”

“You didn’t look so hot.”

“I’ve never heard that from you.”

“Hanzo…” McCree scoots closer, sliding an arm around his waist. “I’m serious. I thought–I thought I was gonna have t’call somebody.”

“Who?”

“Anybody! You were havin’ a damn panic attack!”

Hanzo stares down at his cup. “…Forgive me. It hasn’t been so bad in… in some time.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jesse sighs. It was typical of him to try and suppress to the point of hurting himself… “If I could, I’d goddamn murder the sonuvabitch who did this t’you.”

“My family.”

“…alright. Well, I’d threaten ‘em a little.”

“You are an idiot,” Hanzo says, kissing his cheek. “I have tea, I have you. The rest is–it will take time.”

“Mph. You just drink that up, get some rest…”

He does, finishing the rest of his tea and sinking back under the covers. After a moment McCree joins him, pressing himself right up against Hanzo’s back and nuzzling into his shoulder.

“…thank you.”

“’S no need,” the man murmurs. A kiss, feather-light. “I’d take on the goddamn world for you, baby.”

Milky moonlight fills the room, and he closes his eyes. Even with a head full of ghosts… he knows he will sleep soundly.


	7. Prompt #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: McHanzo Prompt: It started to rain when McCree and Hanzo were heading back to base after a mission, they don’t have an umbrella, so they’re foolishly running through the rain. Hanzo is grumpy about the weather at first, but McCree loves the rain and is giggling as they run through, and Hanzo eventually finds themselves smiling at McCree’s childish behavior.

King’s Row, midnight.

Thunder groans over empty streets. Puddles painted neon by streetlights gather on every surface, slick the cobbles and rooftops. The rain hammers against glass and stone. Hanzo’s clothes cling to his skin.

“I knew this was a mistake.”

McCree wrings out his hat and laughs. “You bothered by a little rain, huh?”

“No,” the man scowls. “But I could have come prepared.”

“Ain’t no preparing for a thunderstorm, here. Part of the local custom!”

“Ngh.”

They slip through an alley and find refuge under a large awning streaked with colour. The mission had been simple enough—reconnaissance, scoping out the local area for any signs of omnic dissonance. After the assassination of his holiness Tekhartha Mondatta there had been protests, not all of them peaceful, and more than a dozen riots… something that 76 was eager to clamp down on. Overwatch had to be a presence for peace if it ever hoped to win people’s trust again, and part of that was pacifying unrest at its origin.  


Hanzo wrinkles his nose as they watch the rain fall. ‘Reconnaissance’ was a polite way of putting it. This felt more like camping.

“Don’t look so sour, gorgeous.” McCree removes his glove and tucks it into a pocket, shaking the wetness from his boots. “Could be worse, right?”

“How?”

“Could be—ah. Hah. Never mind.”

He rolls his eyes and begins unravelling his scarf, letting his hair fall damp around his shoulders. At least it wasn’t much further to base, and a warm bath… something he does _not_ owe to Jesse’s enthusiasm for exploring as much of the city as possible.

“Hell… haven’t seen rain like this since I ran down a cartel in India.” 

He sounds thrilled.

“India?”

“Yeah. They got monsoons there, wetter ‘n anything.” McCree wipes his face with the edge of a sleeve. “It ain’t cold like this, though—‘s warm, like a shower.”

They huddle closer together at a gust, clammy and uncomfortable.

“…it is like that for us, too, sometimes,” Hanzo admits, shivering. “And lightning… wind. It can feel like the world is ending around you.”

“No kiddin’.”

He nods. “While I travelled along the mountains outside Osaka… there is no light for miles, but when lightning strikes you can see everything.” Colour rises in his cheeks. “Well. Perhaps only I found it beautiful.”

Another roll of thunder, like the heart of a drum. McCree drapes his serape around them, nosing Hanzo’s cheek.

“Plenty beautiful. You, that is.”

“Shut up.”

He grins. “Here’s a crazy idea. Let’s dance.”

“… _dance_?”

“Yeah, right out in the rain.”

“You go,” Hanzo snorts, giving the man a shove. “I can wait here until it stops.”

“Gonna be waiting a long time. Doesn’t look like it’s lettin’ up anytime soon.”

He hates to admit when the man is right, and doesn’t often—but concedes when the awning starts to sag above them.

“I am not dancing.”

“That’s alright.” Jesse steps out into the downpour and looks to the sky, laughing. “Ain’t this great?”

“No!”

“It’s great, c’mon.”

It is as far from ‘great’ as Hanzo can possibly imagine, but there is something to be said for McCree’s childish joy, and the way his hair, soaked, catches darkly against his skin. After several steps he realises that they aren’t going to make it back in respectable time or with any sort of decency… so resigns himself to watching the other man whoop and holler at every crack, every drop that hits them.

Eventually, he smiles too.


	8. Prompt #8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Mchanzo: Mc Cree takes Hanzo to a shooting range for guns. It’s a thinly veiled excuse to fondle Hanzo by correcting his posture. Hanzo doesn’t mind this quite as much as he thinks he should

Jesse is touching him.

He doesn’t notice at first, which is unlike him, but as he draws a breath and squeezes the trigger, he feels it.

A hand at his hip.

“Good,” the man murmurs. “You’re getting closer… just gotta watch for that kickback.”

“Yes.” He lowers the pistol. “Give me space.”

“Oh, sorry—sure thing.”

McCree shuffles aside and folds his arms. It still doesn’t feel any easier to concentrate, with him watching—he has not _stopped_ watching—but Hanzo finds room to breathe without his touch. Innocent as it was… and he feels it isn’t entirely innocent, but any contact from McCree is enough to distract him, and the last thing he wants is the man to see him falter.

“Try loosening your stance. No good if your knees are all locked up just as you’re about to fire.”

“You tell me to relax my posture but keep my arms stiff,” Hanzo scoffs. “Which is it?”

“You want me t’come over, show you how it should be?”

He keeps his eyes forward, voice tight. “No. If I’m to learn, I will do it through practice.”

McCree doesn’t say anything, but he can tell his eyes are on him.

The training arena is empty, at least. At first it had seemed risky, to practice at such a late hour: their teammates were only a courtyard away from the noise and even Athena had powered down for the evening… but there is soundproof glass to stifle the worst of the gunfire, and most of the lights are out. All things considered it is an impressive facility, one that he feels he should take advantage of more often… but then, that was why he had agreed to Jesse’s idea in the first place.

The gun is unfamiliar in his hand. He has used them before, of course—one didn’t inherit a criminal empire without spilling blood, or breaking a few bones—but Peacemaker is weighty, unlike his father’s had been. His hands do not sit well around the grip.

He fires another shot and misses, cursing under his breath.

“Offer’s still there. I’ll come and show ya, if you need—”

“It isn’t that.” Hanzo lowers the pistol and grimaces. “This thing… it is weighted entirely differently to my bow.”

“You’re saying you can’t get it t’fit right?”

Before he can answer McCree sidles up and takes stance behind him. A gloved hand moves along his forearm, gentle, while the other sits near his waist. _Again_.

“Jesse—”

“Wait a minute.” He rests his chin on the other man’s shoulder and coaxes him upwards. “Now, lemme see where you’re at.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Hundred percent. Take a deep breath in… let it out again.”

Hanzo grits his teeth, and does.

“Good. Let your knees bend, just a little… you ain’t John Wayne just yet.”

“Who is John Wayne?”

McCree splutters a laugh and narrowly avoids Hanzo’s elbow. “Whoa, there. Ain’t making fun. It’s all about keeping yourself relaxed. Let the shot come from deep down—around about your belly. That’s where everything oughta tense up.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?”

“Sure. I’m an expert, right?”

Hanzo doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Breathing deeply—for patience as much as anything else—he narrows his eyes and eyes the barrel, the target beyond. Relax… McCree’s touch doesn’t leave him. There’s a flicker of light, a solid heartbeat against his back.

A sigh ghosts over his cheek, and he fires.

He hits. Dead centre.

“There ya go!” Jesse grins, hugging him close. “That’s how you hit a target.”

“Would you— _stop_ groping me?” Unconvincing.

“I ain’t groping,” the man laughs. “Besides… looks like I’m your lucky charm, ain’t I? You got that sucker right between the eyes.”

“Ngh.”

“So… that mean another round? I’ve got spares, here…”

Hanzo turns and hands the pistol back, flicking the tip of Jesse’s nose. “Thank you for the opportunity, _cowboy_ ,” he smirks. “But I am not John Wayne just yet.”


	9. Prompt #9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thepimp-and-thepriest asked: Hello I have a prompt for u <3 Hanzo and McCree drinking, except Hanzo can actually hold his liqueur because sake is no bitch drink, and he out-drinks McCree. Fluff/smut/angst ensues.

By the time they reach their shared hotel room, Hanzo realises that McCree is drunk.

He stumbles over the threshold and kicks off his boots, steadying himself just enough to turn and flash a grin.

“I know what we need. ‘Nother drink!”

“ _No_. We—you—have had enough.”

“Ah, that’s quitter talk. Got a little whiskey stashed around here sommere…”

“No more, Jesse.” He stops the man with a palm before he can start searching, holding him firmly in place with a stern look. “You must go to bed. You’re already falling over your own feet—”

“Think you’ll find,” the man hiccups, “that I can hold my booze just fine, gorgeous. I mean, I’ve been drinking since I was about fourteen years old—”

“I don’t doubt.”

“—and I ain’t ever got in a lick of trouble. Unless you count that time I let my papa’s bull out the pen. Or took a piss in ol’ man Abernathy’s garden.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, steering Jesse towards the bed. “Undress, you great oaf. The last thing you need is another drink—you will be incapacitated.”

“Nah… I ain’t there just yet.” McCree fiddles with his buckle and pries it open, pointing to the inscription there. “See this? Says B-A-M-F. Ya know what that means?”

Hanzo resists batting him upside the head and begins undressing himself, folding his hair tie neatly over a chair. Was he ever going to shut up? “I know what it means. You have told me before—when you were sober, and far less annoying.”

“Means badass motherfucker,” the man beams, pleased. With more than a little difficulty he shucks his shirt over his head, tossing it aside and nudging it over with a foot. “I bought it in a thrift store for less than a buck—that sound like the kinda thing a lightweight would do?”

He wants to say ‘exactly the kind of thing a lightweight would do’, and ‘pick your shirt up off the floor’, and ‘neither of us are clear-headed enough to be having any kind of conversation right now so will you please, _please_ shut up’… but he doesn’t. He knows that when McCree is drunk it is easier to flow around him, with him, than put up a fight. And, in all honesty, he had had a few more than was sensible, too…

It had been so easy, to fall into his company. For all his quirks and his incessantly-running mouth, Jesse was warm, inviting, earnest… all the things he’d decided he wasn’t going to be attracted to and was—of course he was! They’d sat at the bar, a shady little alcove off the main streets, and smiled, laughed, drank. One round became two, became five. Hanzo had warned himself then that it was dangerous and—more importantly—unprofessional to relax so readily in the other man’s company… but in the end, he had been helpless.

He finishes undressing and climbs under the covers, watching Jesse struggle with his pants.

He can’t stop a smile.

“Come here, idiot.”

“I got it, I got it…” McCree chews his lip with a frown, falling onto the bed with his underwear bunched around his knees. He burps.

“…you are disgusting.”

“You don’t mean that,” he grins, wriggling until his legs are free. With a sigh, he rolls onto his side and stares at Hanzo over the pillow, bleary-eyed but quite obviously content. “Damn. You’re pretty as a picture.”

“You don’t mean that.” Red cheeks.

“I may be drunk,” Jesse declares, “but I—”

“Enough,” Hanzo huffs, covering his mouth with a hand. “Go to sleep, fool.”

They do, eventually, curling towards each other like autumn leaves through the night.

In the morning, they wake in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for sending in requests! I hope to add to these as more come in, and get the stand-alone project I'm working on up here as well, eventually! If you want to request something, you can find me on tumblr with the same username C:


End file.
